Page 82 of Ruled By Rivalry

His words went in one ear and out the other once I found what he was talking about. The posts, the articles, the think pieces on social media.

WHO’S ELLIOT ASHWOOD’S NEW GIRL?

HAS ALLEGRA AMATO FINALLY BEEN REPLACED?

HAS ALLEGRA AMATO *ALREADY* BEEN REPLACED?

EVERYTHING WE KNOW ABOUT ELLIOT’S HOT DATE.

I blinked the headlines away, tried my very best to look at him, and failed miserably. My phone drew my attention again and again.

Over my shoulder, he glanced at my screen. “They’re not wrong,” I think he said.

“About?”

“My hot date.”

It just sounds like he’s wrapping you around his finger. If there is competition, he’s trying to get the upper hand.

I couldn’t shake Paula’s suspicions—probably because they were in line with my own—but I couldn’t do anything about it either. I should’ve moved away when I felt his breath against my ear, but I didn’t. I should’ve been mad at him for not giving me a heads-up about being the newest gossip fodder, but I wasn’t. There were a lot of ways I should’ve felt about Elliot, and I wasn’t feeling any of them.

I tried to desperately cling to my anger and Paula’s words. All I managed to halfheartedly throw at him was “I didn’t know we were on a date, or I wouldn’t have paid more than half a million dollars for one that night.”

“Thanks again.” He seemed to mean that, so my delivery of what should’ve been a mean comment must’ve been off. “And sorry for the . . . aftermath.”

“I did warn you.” Another attempt to brush him off.

“You did,” he agreed. Sighed. “I just thought they’d be more focused on me, you know? Did Elliot Ashwood finally move on? How does his ex-girlfriend feel? That kind of stuff. Not a double page about who you are. And an entire gallery full of our faces.”

I shook my head, and he seemed remorseful enough to warrant some leeway. “The pictures are fine. No need to take someone’s livelihood away over them.”

Despite the laugh on his lips, he sobered quickly. “And the articles?”

“You just told me about them. Haven’t had a chance to read any—”

“Don’t,” he stressed, moving closer like he was ready to stop me himself. “Whatever you do, don’t read them.”

“Maybe they’re nice to me.”

“Most likely they’re not.” He reached across me to lock my phone; our faces, front and center on my screen, disappeared. When he leaned back again, his hand brushed my leg, and he almost had me. Almost made me cave, forgive, and forget. Then he said, “Which just shows you how stupid and wrong they always are. You weren’t, by the way.”

My brows furrowed when I brought distance between us to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“That you were right.”

“About?”

The pause worried me. Usually, Elliot didn’t need to consider his words. He simply said what came to mind and rarely thought about the consequences because, well, he was Elliot Ashwood.

“Not wanting you in the office today.”

I froze. Didn’t even breathe. Every single one of my alarm bells went off. He had tricked me. He was still actively against me.

“I thought if I kept you away—”

At once, I sat up. “You thought if you kept me away, cooped up at home in a blanket of bliss of your own making, you could just tell everyone I’m too lazy to work on a Saturday? Is that it?”

“What?” Elliot was the one to bring more distance between us; he was almost on the other side of the couch again. “I told everyone you weren’t feeling well.”